


Honey Trap

by sevendials



Category: Weiss Kreuz
Genre: Canon-Typical Violence, Crossdressing, Gen, Humor, M/M, Strong Language
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2005-03-13
Updated: 2005-03-12
Packaged: 2017-10-21 03:55:40
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 19,642
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/220638
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sevendials/pseuds/sevendials
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>When Weiss are ordered to deal with a target who only ever lets his guard down when alone with a woman, Ken finds himself in a very unenviable position indeed...</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. My Fair Lady

**Author's Note:**

> Useless but Heartfelt Copyright Disclaimer: Yes, I know copyright disclaimers don't alter the fact I'm breaking copyright but all the same Weiss Kreuz, its characters, indices and everything relating to it remains the property of Kyoko Tsuchiya, Koyasu Takehito, Project Weiss and Movic. It also belongs to whatever US company released the American DVDs but I can't be any more specific than saying it's 'some US company'. Sorry. This is a fan work from which no profit is being made or ever will be, and it was written for love. Specifically love of Ken.
> 
> Author's notes: … and now for something completely different. I make absolutely no excuses for the rampant insanity present in this story, but I'm writing it mainly as an antidote to the heavy, heavy angst I'm having to deal with in 'Seuche' at the moment. I've wanted to write a fic like this for a long time, but always hung fire because I needed an Overly Contrived Reason to set up the plot. Sadly for the world I finally had a good idea for how to approach this fic on the way into college one morning, spent the whole day making notes on it rather than taking notes in lectures, and… well, here we are.
> 
> Warnings: Strong language (and a lot of it), debatable shounen-ai, violence and cross-dressing. This is a comedy.

It seems hard to credit, but I was actually glad when Omi said he’d finally managed to pin Ogawa down. Glad. Call me stupid if you want but at the time that’s really how I felt. I wouldn’t have done if I’d had any idea what Omi was planning, of course, but he didn’t tell me. All he said was he’d figured out a way we could get the guy and _that_ was long overdue.

We’d been on this mission far too long as it was given how bloody simple it was supposed to be and if it hadn’t been for the main target, this one guy Shougo Ogawa, being the royal paranoiac he was we’d have had it sewn neatly up and over with ages ago. Sadly for us, it wasn’t and he was. Basically Ogawa suspected someone was out to get him and that made him kind of antsy. Not to mention hard to pin down. This is a guy who’s so obsessed he won’t even go to the same goddamn grocery store more than once in a blue moon. Given the kind of stuff he’s involved with I can’t say this is any surprise, but that doesn’t make it any less irritating.

Meanwhile Manx was getting impatient, Aya was getting frustrated and I was getting seriously pissed. Aya’s a complete bitch when he’s angry and he was taking it out on me. I gave as good as I got, of course, but I can’t glare like Aya. Who can?

Being on the receiving end of the Icy Glare of Death twenty-four hours a day was really beginning to grate by the time Omi said he’d finally managed to find a place Ogawa goes to regularly where we can be guaranteed a decent shot at taking him down. Long story short, almost anything sounds like a better idea than waiting around and getting glared into an early grave by Aya so I’m glad to hear it. Anything that stops Aya ignoring me for the best part of two days just because I tripped in the store sounds good to me. It wasn’t my fault Sakura got in my way, was it?

That was before Omi started talking, though. The longer he went on for, the more certain I was getting that he wasn’t telling me everything. He was leaving out something very important. I hate it when people do that. I don’t like being kept in the dark and certainly not by my own goddamn teammates.

So that’s the situation. A paranoid target, a pissed employer and the four of us in the basement where Omi’s talking at us. Aya looks just about as grim as I’ve ever seen him but it’s Youji who’s really giving me the creeps. Youji seems worryingly knowing. Nothing good ever comes out of seeing Youji with that look on his face. It’s like he’s only just about managing not to laugh out loud. What with Youji smirking like that I’m getting the distinct impression the others know something about this I don’t. I'm getting pretty annoyed, too. Again, I like to think it’s understandable. Nobody enjoys having things hidden from them, right?

“So where is this place?” I ask.  
“It’s called Club Verde. It’s a hostess club, I believe,” Omi replies, and he blushes slightly. Youji raises one eyebrow and I get the distinct impression that Club Verde’s reputation isn’t entirely based on the hostesses’ sparkling conversation. Oh boy. What a lovely guy Ogawa is.  
Youji smirks and looks disgustingly calculating. “If you’re looking for someone to go in the front way, Omi, I'm your guy.”  
“Sure you are, Youji,” I say, leaning back into the sofa cushions and looking at him suspiciously. Jesus, who here’s going to dispute his right to it? “You been there before?”  
He grins deviously. “Wouldn’t you like to know, Kenken.”  
I wouldn’t, as it happens. I don’t care. Well. Not really. “Well, it doesn’t sound like you’re hearing the name for the first time.” I don’t miss the look Youji shoots Omi. He’s heard all of this before. There’s definitely something going on here, I'm sure of it, and if I’m not going to trust my own instincts then whose should I trust? I look over at Aya but he, of course, isn’t giving anything away.

Maybe I'm imagining it. Yeah, and maybe Youji’s going to take a vow of celibacy.

“And Ogawa goes there,” Aya says, abruptly rerouting the conversation back onto its designated track.  
“Yes, weekly,” Omi says. “Always on a Saturday night. It’s about the only habit he’s set in.”  
Youji blinks. This at least appears to be news to him. “Saturdays, huh? So we’ve got three days to prepare.”  
Omi nods seriously. “He seems to pay for his evenings out on expenses, so it’s no wonder we didn’t find out about this place from his bank data.” Something about Omi’s manner has me sensing the approach of a ‘but’ here. “But, though we’ve found him, there’s a small problem.” Ah, there it is. Call me suspicious but Omi's behavior and those loaded glances give me the feeling he’s building up to something here and, whatever it is, I'm not going to like it one bit.  
“A problem?” I ask. “What problem?”  
“Well, he’s still the same paranoid Ogawa even if he is letting his hair down a bit,” Omi says way too earnestly. “He goes there with his bodyguards and everything. It seems the only time he ever really relaxes is when he’s alone with a woman. If we’re going to take him off-guard, we’re going to have to do it then.”  
“That’s not a small problem, Omi, it’s a big one,” I say. “I mean it’s nice to know he can relax round girls but what good does knowing that do us when we’re all men?”  
Omi coughs nervously like he needs a glass of water, but Youji grins like an idiot. “Oh, it’s not _that_ big a problem, Kenken.”

Which is when I get the feeling I’ve just walked blithely into a conversational trap.

We’re all silent for a beat. It’s one of those horrible, loaded, over-significant silences you get when someone’s got a secret and the person they’re keeping it from comes so close to uncovering it they decide to let them work out what it is alone. Youji gives Omi that knowing glance again. Then they all look right at me, Aya included. It freaks me out. Youji’s damn near cracking up laughing on the spot, Omi’s biting his lip and suppressing a guilty grin. Even Aya seems to be trying not to smirk and I'm starting to realize that I know exactly where this is going. Not that I can believe it’s for real. So I say the only thing any self-respecting guy could do under the circumstances.

“Are you all out of your _minds_?!”

They exchange another glance and Aya gets in on the act this time, which more or less confirms my suspicions. All of them. Oh, shit. There are times when a guy doesn’t want to be right and believe me this is one of them. I can’t believe this. It’s like a goddamn conspiracy!

“It certainly is a big fucking problem and you’re nuts!”

Omi looks at me beseechingly, but I’m way too used to that ‘you’ve just kicked my kitten’ expression he’s adopting by now for it to have any effect on me whatsoever. I’m not falling for that one again. I look at the wall just above his head and glare at it. I wish I was better at glaring myself into isolation. Nobody would dare pull a stunt like this on Aya and expect him to be utterly fine with it, would they?

“Ken-kun,” Omi says beguilingly, “this is the best plan we’ve got and it’s the only way we’ll catch Ogawa off-guard…”  
“I don’t care!” I sound like a panicky idiot and wish I didn’t. “Find another plan.”  
“Touchy, touchy, Kenken…” Youji says slickly.  
Touchy? Who’s being touchy? This is righteous indignation, goddammit! “I’ll give you _touchy_ , Youji Kudou!” I shout, jumping to my feet.  
“Ken,” Aya says warningly, in that you’re-being-unreasonable-and-I’ve-got-a-headache-so-do- _not_ -piss-me-off-Ken tone he’s so good at, like he was someone’s dad. I’ve never heard anybody say my name so disdainfully, which is pretty impressive considering Aya isn’t actually trying to kill me at the moment. He accompanies it with one of his trademark glowers. I decide to ignore both scowl and tone, but the way the three of them are staring at me’s making me feel like they’ve put me on trial for my life.  
“No way,” I say firmly, folding my arms. “Absolutely _not_. I'm not doing it so you can all forget it.”  
“Someone’s got to do it,” Aya says coldly. “You’re being unreasonable, Ken.” I knew it was coming! Briefly, I fantasize about punching him again and wish I’d hit him harder that first time.  
“Then you bloody do it!” I retort.

Omi looks consternated and exchanges yet another glance with Youji, while Aya gives me an icy glare. For a moment, I'm too taken aback to look away. I simply stare at him in utter disbelief. A part of me’s still half-expecting Youji to tell me he’s kidding and he can’t believe I’m such an idiot as to keep falling for his stupid jokes, but no. Somehow they’re deadly serious and that’s just too weird for words. If that wasn’t bad enough, they seem to be hell-bent on making _me_ out to be the unreasonable one here. This isn’t fair!

“Why does it have to be me?” I ask frantically. “Why can’t you do it, Omi?” I mean, just look at the pair of us for a second. Omi… small, blonde, cute, immense eyes… he at least would look convincing enough that there’d be no way some old perv like Ogawa wouldn’t want to mark time with him. Then there’s me. Yes, I _know_ I'm not exactly tall, but I’m still too tall to pull this off. And no way on Earth would anybody find me cute because I'm bloody not.  
“I’m on comm.,” Omi replies. He actually sounds genuinely apologetic which throws me for a loop, though he can afford to be when he’s not the one being told to make an idiot out of himself for the sake of a mission. I am. “I’m going to need to override the security systems so Aya-kun can get in and out safely, and there’s the secondary mission to consider.” That being wrecking Ogawa’s computer records and the obligatory data retrieval. ”There’s no way I can do that as well as draw Ogawa out.” His pleading look now implies I have just run over his kitten. Okay, that explains why Omi’s out. Guess I’d be being unreasonable to insist Omi did it, even if he is one Hell of a lot more suitable than I could ever be. But the point still stands, goddammit!  
“And I’m out,” Youji says with a chuckle. “I’d look like a stag night that had gotten out of hand.”  
Can’t deny that one, either. “Yes, well,” I say uncertainly. “I still don’t see why I have to do it! Manx or Birman can do it. Or bribe Sakura. Aya, she’d do absolutely anything if you said you’d go see a movie with her!” By Aya’s expression he doesn’t think that’s funny, which is no bad thing because I'm not joking. “Why don’t you do it yourself? You’re the one with the girl’s name!”

Aya glares at me again. I scowl at him and look away, but I can still feel his gaze upon me. The guy’s acting like I just said something massively weird but really, I haven’t. It’s no weirder than what they’re asking from me anyway. He’d be far better at this than I would, that’s damn sure. Aya’s pretty, for a man. I'm not. I’m just Ken. I’m me.

“You’re being foolish, Ken,” Aya says coldly.  
“Like how?” I demand. “What’s so stupid about not wanting to make an utter idiot of myself in public?”  
Youji smirks. “Come on, Kenken. That’s nothing you’re not used to, is it?”

I hate him.  
____

Aya’s glaring at me. Still. If the wind changes he’ll stick like that. Or maybe it’s already happened, I dunno.

I bet he practices that look. Nobody gets that good at anything without a hell of a lot of training. I bet he stands in front of the bathroom mirror giving himself the Evil Eye until the mirror breaks and he passes out on the floor. Then when he comes round again he runs downstairs and aims the fruits of hours of practice right at me. God knows what the hell Sakura and all these other rabid schoolgirls are making of Aya’s new habit of aiming a thousand megawatts of Death Glare in my direction at all times. Knowing Sakura, she thinks he’s only doing it to be cute. She’s fluttering by his elbow right now, giving him love-struck glances. Sadly for her, they all seem to be bouncing right off that icy deflector shield he’s perfected. If I wasn’t feeling so pissed off with the guy I guess it’d be quite funny, but it’s not.

I decide I hate Aya too. And, what the hell, I hate Sakura as well.

I stare out of the window and try to ignore the little voice telling me that what I really want to do right now is nail Aya. In the middle of the shop. With all these damn schoolgirls and Sakura looking on. It’s not so much worry about what Aya will do that stops me from deciding, to hell with it, and slugging him. It’s more that I’m worried about what these bloody girls would do to _me_ if I dared. Maybe they’d stab me with my own scissors or lynch me with a length of ribbon in revenge for my smacking their idol one. Even though he deserves it, not that they’d ever believe that. That’s girls for you, I guess.

I can’t look at Omi either. He’s not treating me like an irritating waste of oxygen in the way Aya is but he’s not given up on getting me to agree to their stupid plan either. He’s still giving me those painfully earnest glances which, roughly translated, mean but it’s for the mission, Ken-kun, you’re not being fair. It’s real hard to ignore a guy who’s giving you hurt looks like you just ran over his cute little sister’s even cuter kitten, but I’m trying. I remind myself what the consequences will be if I waver and that makes it rather easier. Which leaves me with the option of talking to Youji or nobody and of course he’s not going to be any use.

Yeah, I'm feeling isolated. I don’t like it.

Youji snaps his fingers in front of my face and I flinch, nearly knocking over half a dozen pots of miniature roses in the process. Now that really would be all I needed. “Wake _up_ , Ken,” he says, not unpleasantly. It doesn’t make me feel any less like smacking him one.  
“I am awake thank you Youji,” I mutter irritably, steadying the roses and dragging them to the comparative safety of the middle of the counter.  
“Could have fooled me,” he replies, and drifts back to the knot of fawning college girls who’ve been following his every move like he was some kind of latter-day God in low-slung leather pants. I wonder what it is about him and his leather pants that gets girls like that. I wonder if he knows I now officially hate him.  
“I don’t see you working either, Kudou,” I call after him. He just smirks.

At least Youji’s talking to me. I'm not sure if that’s such a good thing, though, given that he’s… well, he’s Youji, basically.

I decide not to think about it and return to scowling at Aya’s turned back, resplendent in the bloody hideous orange sweater he’s so worryingly fond of. How Sakura can still get the hots for him when he wears that godawful thing all the time I don’t know. Hasn’t she noticed the guy’s had his dress sense surgically removed? I have a short but satisfying vision of the pot of miniature roses I'm holding connecting with the back of Aya’s head and wonder if, if I said it was an accident, I could get away with heaving them at him.  
____

“We’ve got to make our minds up tonight one way or another,” Omi says. “If we’re going in this Saturday, we’ll need a couple of days to prepare everything. So it’s time to make a decision and do it fast.”

Omi snapped into mission mode the minute he sat down at the computer and now, when he turns to look at me, he’s got that look in his eyes again. Much as I like the kid I find it very hard to know how to handle him when he’s getting way too serious, like he is now. Still, at least he’s got the grace to look uncomfortable. Aya, of course, is still glaring at me like he was a feudal lord and I was the mud-stained tearaway who’d dared soil the hem of his silk robes, or something stupid like that. I can get lost in my own analogies at times, but it doesn’t take much to imagine Aya as some noble from the feudal era. He’s certainly got the attitude of one and that’s without taking the katana into account.

I’m getting the feeling this meeting’s going to end with my giving in ungraciously or ending up dead. Call it a hunch.

“Agreed,” Aya says coldly. “We don’t have much time.” I wish he’d stop looking at me like that.  
“Ken-kun, I know you’re not keen on the plan we’ve got…” Omi begins. He can bloody say that again! Out of the corner of my eye, I notice Youji smirking to himself as if he’s thinking exactly the same thing I am. Bastard. And here, I bet, comes another _but_. “…but honestly, we didn’t suggest this because we wanted to make you feel stupid. _Did we, Youji-kun_.” And he gives Youji a pointed glance. Seems he’s just as fed up with the blonde’s snickering as I am.  
“Of course not, Kenken,” Youji says coolly, but he’s still got a highly slappable grin plastered across his face. If I broke his jaw, I guess I could claim that bloody smile as mitigating circumstances.  
I don’t even deign to look at him. “Stop _calling_ me that!”  
All Aya says is, “You’ve already accepted this mission, Ken.” Yeah, thanks for that, Aya Fujimiya.  
Omi sighs. “What I'm trying to say is we haven’t come up with anything better, Ken-kun. Like it or not—”  
“I don‘t like it,” I say crossly. “At all.”  
“I know you don’t,” Omi says wearily. Whoops. Guess he’s pretty pissed off with me, too. “But regardless, it’s the best plan we’ve got. Give me a week and I couldn’t come up with anything better. This is the only place we know Ogawa visits which isn’t so heavily guarded to make getting to him an impossibility. It’s also the only place he lets himself _relax_. The risks to cornering him anywhere else are completely unacceptable.”

Yeah. I know all this. I was in on the briefing too. I know how paranoid this guy is. He’s got a security staff to rival the Prime Minister’s and they watch him round the clock. The grounds of his house crawl with guards even when he’s not actually in residence. If we tried to go after him there, or almost anywhere he’s got to be, Omi thinks at least one of us would get killed for sure. That’s what he means by completely unacceptable. I know what he means but although I know that’s not the way to go, I'm really not convinced that this is.

Needless to say the guy never married. Too damn paranoid. Hence the Club Verde thing, I guess.

Still, how the fuck can we not have any better plans? Omi here’s a boy bloody genius and this is really the absolute best he can do when it comes to getting Ogawa? Yeah, sure the guy’s a paranoiac but really, how bloody hard can it be to deal with one of those? Why does it have to come down to this rather than anything that might actually be kind of understandable?

“The only other way round this,” Aya says, “would be to join his staff as bodyguards and gain his trust, then kill him.”  
“Aw, _man_.” Youji pulls a face. “That’d take ages!” I agree with him. It’s not an attractive plan. It’s not even a realistic one. The guy’s so paranoid I bet it’d take months to get assigned to work in the same building as him, never mind anywhere near his most sacred person. Does Ogawa think he’s the Pope rather than some bastard drug baron?  
Omi nods. “And Manx has said she’d like to see this mission finished as soon as possible. She’s starting to get impatient. The sooner we can get this finished, the better.” I didn’t think it was going to be possible, not even for Omi, but he’s looking more earnestly hurt than I’ve ever seen. Apparently I’ve just run over his little sister. “We can’t leave Ogawa much longer, Ken-kun, and we can’t do this any other way. Think of all the people he’s going to harm if we don’t complete the mission…”

He knows he’s got me. Even if I hate Aya and Youji at the moment and I'm coming pretty damn close to hating Omi too, I’d hate to see them hurt even more. Go figure, but if I dropped out of the mission and they got killed because of it, or if by doing nothing I let Ogawa carry on regardless… well, guilt wouldn’t be the word for where I’d be at if that happened. I have an inconvenient conscience, or at least I do for an assassin. I kind of wish it’d go pick on someone else. All it seems to be good for is getting me in trouble.

“Oh, hell,” I say wearily. “Fucking, bloody _hell_.”

Omi and Youji exchange triumphant glances.

I'm doomed.


	2. My Fair Lady

The plan’s this.

Youji goes in the club the front way and I go with him while Omi enters through the air vents and Aya by the roof. Whilst Omi searches for a computer room and Aya watches his back, Youji and I wait for Ogawa to show. Omi does his stuff in the computer room then goes to cover the exit just in case something goes wrong, which is where Aya leaves him. Aya then heads toward the club proper to wait for Youji’s signal. When Ogawa enters I get him alone, off-guard and preferably in a compromising position whilst Youji fills Aya in on where we’ve got to then blocks the target’s escape. Finally, Aya enters the room before Ogawa can compromise _me_ too much, where he kills him. End of story.

Needless to say I’m not going to be making nice with strange men as Ken Hidaka, florist, or even as the assassin Siberian. I’ve only gone and drawn the metaphorical short straw, as usual, and am going to have to spend the entire damn mission dressed as and pretending to be a girl. There’s a hell of a lot hanging on my ability to do this well enough to convince Ogawa. I'm not at all sure I want to do this. Actually, I'd rather slit my wrists than do this but as Aya oh-so-charmingly puts it I’ve already accepted the mission.

Omi thinks it sounds simple. I don’t but everyone stopped listening to me ages ago.

Of course, because I’m the kind of guy who hates being kept in the dark about how things are going, God or Fate or some other twisted deity seems to have decided that I'm going to spend practically the entire mission without a single bloody clue as to how it’s going, or even if it’s going at all.

Sometimes I think I really hate my life, too.  
____

Manx looks at me curiously. Then she turns and looks over at Aya skeptically. Then she looks back at me over her shoulder, plainly incredulous.

“ _Siberian_?” She says finally.  
“Him,” Youji says, and smiles broadly, aiming it solely at Manx. “Yeah.”  
She looks doubtfully at me again as if she’s never seen me before and can’t quite work out why I’m here, then she pinches the bridge of her nose, like she’s getting a tension headache. I can’t say I blame her. “O- _kay_. Let me see if I’ve got this straight. You want to be certain of finding the target alone, without his bodyguards, and the only time that happens is when he’s in Club Verde with a woman. So to that end Siberian is going to pose as a woman and lure him into one of the back rooms where Abyssinian and Balinese take him down.” She’s been thrown, I can tell by her voice. “Are you boys quite _sure_ about this?”  
“No, I’m not!” I say angrily, only to get glared into silence by Aya.  
“Perfectly,” He says coldly, giving me a look that screams _and if you say so much as another word, Ken Hidaka, I'm going to kill you slowly and painfully_. I get the picture and decide to shut up before I talk myself into an early grave.  
Omi nods, his eyes wide and serious. At least he isn’t laughing. Perhaps because he knows if he wasn’t running comm they’d be doing this to him. Youji winks at her, pushing his hair back from his face. “Yeah, we’re sure.”  
Omi giggles anxiously. “We’ve discussed it, Manx-san. Siberian’s… not exactly happy with it, but he’s the best choice.”  
“Yeah, like _hell_ you discussed it…” I mutter darkly. Well, there goes my resolution to keep quiet but fuck it, this is too much. Maybe they discussed it with each other but they damn sure didn’t run it by me first!

Manx looks at me again, her brows furrowing thoughtfully. I have absolutely no idea what she’s thinking, but going by the slight smile on her face she wants to laugh. I don’t know if I should be flattered or insulted by that expression. On the one hand I don’t like the idea she’s laughing at me, but on the other I wouldn’t want someone to think it’d be an easy job to make me look like a woman. Unsure what to do with myself, I settle for looking at the wall and folding my arms. Manx raises one hand to her mouth, hiding a smile.

“Is that why you called me down?” She asks finally.  
“That’s it,” Youji replies, smiling lasciviously at her. “We thought it’d be a good idea to get the opinion of a genuine woman.” I wonder if she minds him talking to her cleavage. God, Youji’s a pervert. He’s so transparent we could use him to glaze a window.  
Manx nods briskly, red curls bouncing. Don’t they get in her face a lot? “That wasn’t a bad idea. You do realize,” she says to the room at large, “that putting Siberian in a dress and trusting he’ll know what to do from there won’t fool anybody? It’ll take considerably more than that to make him into a convincing female.” She suppresses another smile as if she can’t quite believe what we’re talking about. Well, I can’t either. You think _you’ve_ got problems buying this crap, Manx? Well, try sitting where I am!  
“That’s exactly why we thought we’d get your advice,” Aya says far too calmly.

It’s a damn good thing Aya and Youji don’t know how pissed off I am with them at the moment. They’re taking this way too coolly for my liking, Aya in particular. It’s like he can’t even _imagine_ why I don’t want to do this. Can’t he project a little and imagine how he’d feel if I was insisting he played the whore for the sake of killing some middle-aged psycho? I look angrily at him for a moment, then turn to the grinning Youji. I decide this is all his fault. He’s really going to be for it just as soon as Manx leaves.

“It’s going to take more than _advice_ , I’m sorry to say,” Manx replies, not sounding sorry at all.  
“See?” I say to the others. “I told you this was a bloody stupid idea.”  
She glances over at me disdainfully. “You’ll have to do something about _that_ , for a start.”  
“That?” I blink.  
“The way you talk,” Manx elaborates, folding her own arms and looking down at me meditatively. The look in her eyes is almost enough to have me bolting for the stairs. “And the way you sit, the way you move… Bombay, are you absolutely sure you want _Siberian_ to do this?” She motions toward me with one upturned hand, inviting him to take a look at me. It’s a surprisingly eloquent gesture.  
“We don’t have any choice,” Aya answers for Omi, implying he’s got no more confidence in me than Manx has. They’re not alone but right now I’m damned if I'm going to admit it. Weirdly I’m almost feeling insulted, though not so insulted that I want to prove them wrong, mind.  
I give him the foulest look I can manage on a moment’s notice. “Wow, thanks.”  
She blinks, then she sighs, shaking her head. “Well, since it’s for tonight’s mission and you seem to be serious about this, I’ll see what I can do. I'm going to borrow Siberian for the day but I’ll see that he’s back before you get going, don’t worry.” And she turns and makes for the staircase.  
“What?” I can’t believe I heard her right.  
Youji raises his eyebrows and gives me a supposedly playful glower with way too much sincerity behind it. “Whew, lucky! I’d gladly dress up as a chick if I got some time alone with Manx out of it!”  
“No you damn well wouldn’t,” I reply.  
Manx is already halfway to the stairs but she stops and turns, looking over her shoulder at me. She frowns slightly when she notices I haven’t immediately sprung to my feet and run after her, like I couldn’t wait to find out how she intended to make a woman out of me. “Come on, Siberian,” she says coolly.

You can’t argue with that tone of voice, or at least I can’t. Matter closed, I guess…

Sighing and muttering a collection of interesting curses I’ve been saving for a situation of dire provocation, I get to my feet. The idea of dressing up like a girl’s bad enough without it turning into some production number, so I’m not best pleased by Manx hinting at there being considerably more in store for me than having to wear girls’ clothes if I want to make an even halfway believable female. Which I don’t, by the way, but it seems like it’s going to happen regardless of how I feel about it. I tell myself this is all for the mission and reluctantly join Manx by the stairs. I wonder how far I’d get if I tried to make a run for it. Probably I wouldn’t even make it out the door.

Right on cue, Youji grins at me. “Go get ‘em, Tiger.”

I decide I'm going to hide his lighter when I get back.  
____

It’s dusk. The schoolgirls, by now, will have pretty much gone home. The occasional one or two, without the curfews or paranoid parents I normally expect the lot of them to have simply by virtue of being young and female, might still be hanging round the place but that’s not a definite. It means less people to see me and I offer a fervent prayer of thanks to God, Jesus, Mary and anyone else who might be listening as I try to psych myself up to get out of Manx’s car. I wonder if I hate Manx as much as I do Youji and Aya, or if I hate her more. I decide I definitely hate her more. I feel stupid.

I know I can’t hide in here forever and I don’t much care. I _want_ to hide in here forever, goddammit! Preferably beneath the seats, or maybe even in the trunk. I like it in here. Nobody can see me in here. There’s no Youji. It’s safe.

“Come on, Siberian,” Manx says impatiently. She’s tapping her foot. “Nobody’s going to recognize you and I don’t have all night.” She’s obviously been taking glaring lessons from Aya because she’s got that _you will do exactly as I say or I will show you what pain really means_ look he’s so good at on her face as well. God, Manx scares me sometimes. It’s almost hard for me to believe that she’s actually talking to me. I don’t feel at all like Siberian at the moment so I'm surprised when I respond.  
“They’d better not recognize me,” I mutter.  
Manx clicks her tongue and sighs. “And at least _try_ to talk like a woman, please.”  
“Sorry,” I say shortly and, I guess, with very bad grace.

Whoever knew getting out of a car could be so nerve-wracking? It seems to take all the willpower I’ve got to open the damn door, and considerably more than I’d ever suspected I might possess to climb out of the car and close it behind me without succumbing to the temptation of diving back inside and refusing to come out until Manx promises me that the street is empty, there is absolutely nobody in the shop and, whilst I'm wishing for things that’ll never happen, that Youji’s gone inexplicably missing and everybody else in the world has suddenly been struck blind, like in that old movie about the man-eating plants.

I’d quite like to be struck blind, too. It would save me from catching sight of my reflection in the windows of the shop and staring at it in complete disbelief for a moment or two. I’ve seen what Manx has done to me once or twice before but all the same it’s hellishly unsettling to be confronted with it when I’m just trying to walk down the road. I know what I expect to see when I look in the mirror and it double damn sure isn’t this. The long red dress with the Mandarin collar and, God help me, like I wasn’t embarrassed enough already, a split skirt would be bad enough but that isn’t the half of it. Oh, no. There’s the high-heeled shoes and the evening bag – both also in red, incidentally –and the gloves and the hose to contend with. And the bobbed black wig with its stupid complimentary red hair grips. And lastly there’s the make-up. Who is this person?

Somewhere under all this I’m still Ken Hidaka but I really can’t see it right now. It’s freaky.

Honestly, I’d rather look stupid. I’d rather look like, as Youji put it, a stag night that’s gotten out of hand than this. I don’t look like a guy playing dress-up. I look like a tall, slender, utterly pissed-off girl and that’s just so wrong I don’t know what to make of it. I'm kind of worried.

I stare at myself in silent shock until Manx catches me by the elbow and drags me into the store. I stumble after her, with _stumble_ being the only way to describe it. I hate these shoes already. I’d better not need to run anywhere tonight. It’s no wonder it’s always girls who die in slasher films. They can’t get away from the serial killer fast enough because of their goddamn stupid _shoes_. Manx said the thing about high heels, basically, is everyone walks elegantly in them and nobody can help but look gracefully ladylike when wearing them. I wonder if I’ve disabused her of this crazy idea graphically enough yet or if I need to trip over again.

Youji’s either going to laugh until he chokes or try and hit on me and I’m not sure what would be worse.

“I’m afraid we’re just closing,” Omi says automatically. Then he says, “Oh my God.”

The look on his face, though it’s aimed at me, is so priceless that just for a moment I wish I had a camera. Of course I don’t look any better at the moment but at times like this I’ve got to take my humor where I find it. Manx, on the other hand, looks about thirty times more smug than I ever imagined she could manage. I’d like to kick her but she’s done quite enough to me already without me provoking her. It’s safe to say that, with things being how they are, I really don’t want to know what she’d do if I ever pissed her off.

“Hi,” I say weakly. I wish Manx was bigger so I could hide behind her.  
Omi’s still staring at me. “ _Ken-kun_?”  
“It’s that bad?” I wish I didn’t sound so plaintive.  
“That’s not it!” He says hastily, perhaps because Manx is still hovering by the counter looking calm, purposeful and as if she’ll scratch the eyes out of anyone who suggests red isn’t my color. With her calling the shots I wasn’t even surprised to end up in red. “I didn’t recognize you… I guess that means it works, right? It’s a _good_ disguise. Good evening, Manx-san!” He turns to her and smiles like he’s complimenting her on her work. I look down at the bag I'm carrying and wonder how much damage I’d do if I were to smack Omi over the head with it.

Then Youji shows up, dressed up in that suit he wears when he wants to look smart for his dates and smoothing his hair, but he stops short in the doorway and blinks like he was trying to get his brain activated. He looks at me first, then over at Manx and finally, a disgustingly curious look on his face, at Omi. I’d guess he finds whatever answer he was looking for in Omi’s flatly sadistic smile, because this grin spreads slowly across his face as he looks back at me, doing this sort of up-and-down-and-up-again sweep of the eyes which doesn’t quite finish back at my face. By the time he’s done staring, his grin’s gotten so broad it looks like the top of his head’s about to come off.

It also looks like he’s checking me out. He knows I’m a guy beneath all this stupid stuff Manx forced me into and he’s checking me out?! For a moment I'm too shocked even to think of an appropriate curse and I feel myself start to blush. Fuck.

“Ken,” Youji says, gesturing to me with his cigarette. “Right?”  
Omi nods and grins. “Yes, that’s Ken-kun.”  
I fold my arms and glare at him. “And you couldn’t have asked me that _because_?”  
“Definitely Ken,” Youji says casually. “Gotta tell you, Manx, you’ve done pretty well.”  
Manx raises one eyebrow and condescends to look in my direction. “Unfortunately, Siberian can’t quite seem to get the hang of feminine speech.”  
“Won’t be a problem, Manx,” Youji says slickly. “I don’t think Ogawa’s gonna be interested in his conversation. You should’ve got him a blonde wig.”  
I’m about to reply that I’d have looked goddamn stupid as a blonde, not that I look much less goddamn stupid as it is, but Manx gets in first. “It wouldn’t have worked with his complexion.”  
“I'm still here, guys,” I point out. “You can still talk to me and put your eyes back in your head while you’re at it, Kudou!” How Manx stands Youji addressing remarks to her cleavage without wanting to run riot with Aya’s katana I don’t know. Grabbing a sword and chasing Youji with it whilst screaming ‘die’ at the top of my lungs never seemed so attractive.  
Youji smirks. “I'm just paying tribute to your powers of disguise, Kenken.”  
“You mean you’re a pervert!”  
Omi’s looking between the two of us like we were playing championship tennis, not about to start throwing stuff at each other, and he’s stifling a fit of giggles, but what he actually says is, “Not in the shop, please guys?”  
“I’ll leave you boys to it, I think,” Manx says with a small chuckle. “Siberian, please try and remember to talk like a woman and when you sit down, cross your legs. Okay?”  
“Whatever,” I say shortly, glancing at her over my shoulder as she heads for the door.

For all my attempts to stay cool, I desperately wish she wasn’t going. At least when there’s a third party here I know Youji can’t try anything too stupid. Needless to say I’m not looking forward to driving to the club with the pervert, though I'm rather less worried about that than I am about the rest of this mission. Someone, I decide, is going to have to pay for this and since I'm not going to get to lay a finger on that bastard Ogawa unless things go really wrong, that leaves me with a straightforward choice between Aya and Youji.

It’s definitely Youji. By the time Aya finally deigns to show his face I’ve told Youji to fuck off four times and been reminded that young ladies don’t use such vulgar language three times. I'm in the process of informing Youji that I am not now, never have been and never will be a young lady and to Hell with this ridiculous bloody mission and if he doesn’t stop laughing he’s going to fucking die when Aya steps into the room. Aya raises his eyebrows once when he catches sight of me but aside from that he barely even seems to notice that I'm wearing some stupid dress rather than jeans and a jacket the way I normally do. That’s Aya for you, I guess. I’m glad for it, but at the same time it’s a bit weird.

Still, when he suggests that since both Youji and I are ready we might as well make a move, Aya sees himself catching up with Youji in the stakes for who I’d most like to gut. By the time he warns us, correction, warns me about keeping cool around Ogawa and how important it is that the target doesn’t suspect there’s anything amiss, they’re on evens. I’ve done missions before. It’s not like putting a dress on’s magically lowered my IQ by thirty points, is it?

“Behave yourself, Youji-kun,” Omi says with a grin as I reluctantly follow the lanky blonde to the door.  
“Don’t worry about us, Omi,” Youji says languidly. “Have you ever known me to be any less than a gentleman to any of my dates?”  
“You do realize, Youji,” I say stiffly, “that any judge in the country would consider this grounds for justifiable homicide?”  
Youji looks down at me in well-acted surprise, a look of mock outrage pasted across his face. That is, I hope it’s only mock outrage. “Ah, don’t be like that! Women love me.”  
“Look, I’m _not_ a bloody _girl_ , okay?!” I point out for the fiftieth time.  
“Could have fooled me, Kenken,” he says with a chuckle, “you certainly look like one. Now come on, sweetheart. We’re going to be late.”

He casually drapes one arm across my shoulders. Casually I shrug it off. Omi claps one hand over his mouth and tries to pretend he’s not about to burst out laughing, probably because he knows I’d try and strangle him if he did. I have no idea what that little idiot found so funny about me not wanting to get pawed by Youji and I’m not going to ask. Some things you just don’t want to know.  
____

It’s not until we’re halfway to the club, a journey which I’ve mostly spent with my hands to my head because I'm worried about losing the wig never mind the several dozen hairpins securing it to my own hair, that I realize I’m missing something very important. I'm not armed. Not at all. I'm going to be making nice with a dangerous, not to mention paranoid target with the intention of getting him alone, and I don’t have anything remotely resembling a weapon to back me up in case something goes wrong. I don’t even have a can of Mace.

I also realize I'm going to die. What’s worse, I'm going to do it in a red Chinese dress and high heeled shoes.

“Problem?” Youji asks, briefly taking his eyes off the road to glance over at me.  
“I’m not armed,” I say nervously. “What happens if something goes wrong?”  
“It’s not going to,” Youji says automatically. I guess I must look either unconvinced or just plain worried, though, because he relents. “It won’t get that far. You get him by himself, I’ll call Aya and that’ll be it. You’ll be alone with him for five minutes, tops. Even unarmed you can handle that. If all else fails, grab a vase and knock the guy senseless. You’re good at that.” He gives me a strange look and I can guess what he’s talking about.  
“Okay, okay, I’m sorry.” I look down at my feet. They don’t look like my feet. They look more like Manx’s. What was that crap Youji said once about the character of a woman being in her ankles or somesuch? I wonder if you can do the same with guys. “Hey, Youji? What’re we gonna do if he doesn’t go for it?”  
“He’ll go for it,” Youji says confidently. “Trust me, the last thing anyone’ll take you for is an assassin and a male one at that..”

If that was supposed to make me feel better, it didn’t work. I go back to staring fixedly at this black car a few feet ahead of us and worrying about this stupid wig. It beats worrying about the mission and trying to talk to Youji. I guess there’s nothing for me to do but trust the others will come through all right. Normally I’d have no problems with that but right now it’s rather a different matter. I’d deny it if anyone asked me, but I’m having serious second thoughts about whether or not I should be going through with this. Second thoughts, cold feet, first-night nerves, the doubts – call them what you will, I’ve got them.

Okay, I’ll admit it: I’m feeling kind of scared.

It doesn’t help when it suddenly occurs to me that using the girls in the shop in general and Yuriko in particular as a reference for how girls behave isn’t going to get me anywhere. Yuriko wasn’t the kind of girl who went to clubs and I can’t really say she flirted with me or anything, we just kind of talked to each other and that was it. While the girls in the shop may be both those things I only ever see them when they’re squealing and clinging to Aya like he was some kind of bad-tempered teddy bear. Simply, I have no idea what I'm supposed to be doing. I wish Manx’s attempt to teach me girl things had concentrated less on how to talk like a girl and more on what kind of things girls say to guys they’re flirting with, because I still haven’t got the hang of female speech patterns and I don’t know what it is I'm supposed to be telling Ogawa either.

“Um, Youji?” I ask, turning to look at him again. “What do I do if he _does_ go for it?”  
“You’ll think of something.” Youji says.  
I laugh nervously. “And if I don’t?”  
“You’re really worried, aren’t you?” Youji says in surprise, glancing over at me again.  
What starts out in my head as _Hell no, I’m not worried_ somehow comes out as “Wouldn’t you be?”  
He sighs. “Look, I wasn’t going to tell you this but Omi found something out about Ogawa. He prefers it when the girl’s kind of… innocent. He won’t care if you don’t know what you’re doing. He’ll probably prefer it.”  
I look at Youji blankly for a moment or two, wondering if he really said what I thought he did, then I panic. “I’ll walk back, okay?” I say, going for my seatbelt.  
“Will you cool it, Ken? Nothing’s going to happen to you,” Youji says firmly. “Calm down.”  
I smile nervily at him and I bet it looks weird as hell. “Okay, whatever…”

Now I'm really feeling scared. I want to go home and hide under the bed, or at the very least replace these stupid lace gloves with my bugnuks.

After dropping that bombshell on me, Youji decides from my stunned silence that he’d better lighten the mood a bit. Being the complete dumbass that he is, he decides the absolute best way to do this is to make constant off-color remarks about the efficiency of my disguise and how my legs measure up with those of his million and one girlfriends. This begins to pall after about thirty seconds, from my point of view, but going by the way Youji’s going on I’m convinced that blonde flake thinks he’s mining a rich comic vein. Needless to say he isn’t. He’s just pissing me off severely and making me fantasize about forcing him to eat my wig, then beating him senseless.

I’ll admit that it does lighten the mood somewhat, though. Instead of worrying about exactly how Ogawa’s gonna murder me, I’m now trying to work out how _I’m_ going to kill _Youji_ when we get home. The rest of the journey consists of me sitting there in stony silence whilst Youji keeps up a constant monologue about how he’d hit on me if he met me in a club and didn’t know me. After about the nine hundredth comment about what he’d like to do if I really was a girl I lose what’s left of my patience, haul off and smack him over the head only to get told that ladies don’t do things like that.

Oh, Youji’s a dead man.


	3. Girls on Film

If I thought wanted to go home when I was in the car, within five minutes of getting into Club Verde I’m absolutely convinced of it. It’s not the kind of place I’ve ever been to for fun, or would ever have wanted to either. This is not my idea of a good time. Doesn’t help that I feel stupid and out of place. I decide I really loathe clubs and stick close to Youji.

The place is pretty big, much more so than I thought it’d be, but I guess I’d call the atmosphere intimate. The room’s really pretty dark, dark enough that I guess nobody’s going to be able to see me close enough to question my gender, but it seems like it’s the kind of dark that’s meant to make guys feel comfortable enough to drop their inhibitions and not worry too much about being seen. From where I’m standing that’s actually pretty creepy but I’m damned if I'm going to admit to _that_. I hope we can actually find Ogawa in all this. If he doesn’t show that’s just too bad because I'm not doing this again next fucking Saturday for anything at all. Omi can do it.

My shoes pinch and I keep thinking I’m about to trip. Elegance and fucking grace, my ass.

I get the feeling some of the guys are staring at me and I wonder if I look that stupid, but after a bit I think I’ve worked out why and it’s got nothing to do with my looks. There’s plenty of women in the place, but I’d guess most of them were hostesses. Now I'm not a girl but right now I might as well be, don’t I just know it, and what makes me a standout is I came in with Youji. Who’s ignoring me in favor of some hostess. She’s as Japanese as I am but she introduced herself as… I didn’t really catch it but it was some made-up American name like Candy or Sandy or Mandy. Which, I’d guess, means that anyone watching knows my so-called date isn’t going to be that upset if someone else decides to take me off his hands.

It makes me feel like a kitten who’s just crashed a convention of Doberman Pinschers. It’s enough to make me wonder what I did to piss the others off so badly. Whatever it was, guys, I’m really, really sorry and I’ll never do it again. Now can I go home, please?

Some drunk guy says hi to me. I try to look busy. _Really_ busy. “Hi.” I mustn’t have sounded dismissive enough because he squints back at me, showing a mouthful of bad dental work in what I presume was intended as a smile. I look quickly round for Youji only to discover he’s chosen this exact moment to vanish off somewhere. Thanks again, God.  
“You look lost,” he says. He sounds friendly enough but the squint and the dental nightmare is kind of off-putting.  
“I’m looking for someone, actually,” I say, pitching my voice up an octave and trying not to sound too Northern, or too like a guy for that matter.  
“Stood up?” He looks at me like he’s considering what to do with me. I consider breaking his nose. “Want me to stand in?”  
Don’t even think it, buddy. “That won’t be necessary, thanks.” Where’s Youji gotten to anyway?

The sad thing is the drunk guy’s actually more likable than Ogawa. Ogawa’s not an attractive proposition and wouldn’t be even if I really was a girl. He’s pretty tall, pretty big and pretty unattractive but the most distinctive thing about him is, basically, he’s a frustrated businessman here to score with the bar girls. This might be more helpful if I wasn’t stuck in a club full of frustrated businessmen here to score with the bar girls.

And, or so it seems going by this idiot here, me.

Why didn’t anyone think to tell me that part of being a girl includes nobody bloody listening to a word you say? I’ve made it all of two paces when someone puts their arm round my shoulders. Left to myself I’d slap it off and punch its owner and I'm about to do just that when I remember I’m supposed to be being cute, shy and naïve. I turn around and find myself staring right at my new admirer, bad teeth and all. It’s only by grabbing my stupid bag with both hands that I manage to stop myself smacking him one.

“Come on, honey… would it kill you to humor a guy?”  
Honey? Excuse me? I forbear to point out that it might just kill _him_ and decide to try the diplomatic route. “Can you please take your hand off my shoulder.”  
“What’s the matter?” he asks, like it wasn’t completely obvious. He doesn’t take his hand off my shoulder either. Instead he tries to draw me toward him. I try to walk away but lose my footing, nearly breaking my ankle in the process – blame the shoes. He catches me, pulls me to his chest and steadies me, then looks expectantly down at me. Am I supposed to thank him for pawing me now, or what? It’d be the easiest thing in the world to punch him in the face, but that’d blow my cover. “That’s better, isn’t it?”  
“Hey,” I say, trying to keep my temper, “I said I was with someone…”  
He leers at me. “Come on, babe, what’s he got I haven’t?”  
Well, how about good teeth? Maybe I should tell him I'm a guy. “Stop that.” I remember I’m supposed to be being demure and add, “Please.” And I try to pull free, then freeze. Oh, Jesus. He’s got his hand on my ass.

At which point someone else grabs me by the shoulders and all but drags me away from the pervert. This time I nearly fall over backwards and end up leaning heavily against their chest. Okay, I'm getting pissed off now. This isn’t to say I’m not grateful but it hurt and I’m already sick of being yanked around the place. Who the Hell is this anyway?

“She’s with me.”

Oh. It’s only Youji. Good timing. He’s got his hands on my shoulders and when I look over at him he’s giving the guy an icy leveling death glare only marginally less ferocious than Aya’s own. Has he been taking lessons or something? I'm about to ask where in the flaming Hell he thinks he’s been for the last few minutes only leaving out the curse-words since I'm being cute, only for Youji to cut me off.

“Play along,” he murmurs.  
“Huh?” I blink. I think I’ve missed the point somewhere along the line. “Play along with what?”  
“Shut up and do it, Hidaka.”

Then Youji does something I'm really not expecting and kisses me.

First I'm stunned, so much so I can’t even push him off. Then I’m absolutely bloody scandalized. I feel like I've gone into shock and maybe I have. Youji is kissing me and he’s doing it well and it’s so goddamn weird and freaky and wrong I don’t know how to react. I want to scream. I want to kill Youji. I want to ignore the inconvenient fact that he’s a frighteningly good kisser. I want to not have just had that thought. I definitely do _not_ want to be thinking maybe I kind of like it. Finally my mind goes weirdly blank and I guess I decide that, deeply fucked up though this idea of Youji’s is, I am going to play along with it after all. For now. Because I can’t strangle him without jeopardizing the mission.

One of us is going nuts, right?

After an entirely way too long time he lets me go and I pull quickly away. I'm not sure if I’m relieved or not and it scares me. I feel dizzy, Christ alone knows why, and I’m absolutely convinced I’m blushing. I guess Youji must be saying something pointed to my admirer, who stammers some half-assed excuse for an apology then makes himself scarce, but I don’t quite catch it. I'm too busy staring at Youji. What the fuck is going _on_ here?

The minute the drunk guy and his teeth are safely elsewhere I give into impulse and slap Youji. It doesn’t change anything and it’s nowhere near as satisfying as breaking his jaw would be but what the Hell, it makes me feel better.

“I can’t take you anywhere, can I?” Youji says finally. Would you believe he’s still fucking smiling?  
“Youji Kudou, you are a complete, total, utter _bastard_! What did you do that for?”  
“Do what?” he asks way too innocently.  
I stare at him. I get the horrible feeling I’m blushing. All right, still blushing. “… you _know_ what!”  
“Verisimilitude,” he deadpans. “We’ve got a job to do, remember?”

Oh, yeah. That.

Twenty minutes later I'm sat in some corner with Youji and Candy or whoever and some other hostess with a fucking awful blonde dye job who claims to be called Selina, a name she clearly hopes will add some kind of class to the proceedings. Sadly for all of us it’s not working. Somehow Youji’s managing to monopolize both women’s attentions at once which I’ll admit is pretty impressive. And me? I’m nervous, uncomfortable, humiliated and basically bored out of my mind. Youji’s gone back to ignoring me and the girls think I'm a girl so they’ve barely even glanced in my direction. This leaves me nothing to do unless you count waiting for Ogawa to show up, which I'm not looking forward to seeing as how I'm already feeling really embarrassed and even more pissed off, no thanks to Youji of course.

We’re never going to find the target stuck here at this stupid corner table, so I decide I'm going to speed things up a bit. The sooner I find Ogawa the sooner I can get out of this damn dress, right? It sounds like a good plan to me. All I need to do is get shot of Youji.

“Youji,” I say. Then I say it again. “Youji. Hey, Youji? Are you in there? Youji!”

That airhead Candy or whoever snickers at the look on my face but Youji doesn’t even raise his head. Too busy talking to Selina’s cleavage, the freaking pervert. I’d like to remind him we’ve got a mission to complete but no matter what Youji says about me I'm not going to be so dumb as to blow our cover in the middle of a crowded club by mentioning _that_ little detail. Instead I drive my instep into Youji’s calf and he looks up, wincing. I begin to wonder if maybe there aren’t advantages to high-heeled shoes after all.

“Is everything okay, honey?” he asks with an air of mock-concern. _Honey_ again? I smile in that terrifyingly sweet way Ouka’s so good at and kick him again. That considerate act’s nowhere near good enough to fool me. His grin’s easily as fake as Selina’s breasts and it says I'm in big trouble the minute we get out of here, though whether it’s because I’m happily fucking up his lower leg or because I interrupted his _ménage a trois_ I have no idea. Right now I don’t care either. If anyone’s got a right to be righteously indignant it’s me anyway.  
“I’m going to get some fresh air,” I say firmly, getting to my feet and grabbing the stupid evening bag from the table.  
He tries to hide his relief but doesn’t manage it. “Okay,” he says with a nod and a smile. “Just watch you don’t get yourself into any more trouble, babe.”  
I can’t quite keep the pissed look from my face. “Thanks, but I can look after myself.”  
“Which is why that guy back there had his hand on your ass, is it?” Youji asks, and grins at me.

I am going to _kill_ him. I mean it. Youji’s a dead man.

I wonder if it would jeopardize the mission if I hurled my bag into his face. Probably. Oh, fuck it. I turn my back on him with what I hope is an adequate amount of contempt and walk cautiously off into the crowd. I would have tried to turn on my heel in disgust, but with me in these shoes that maneuver’d land me on my ass most likely, so perhaps not.

I'm glad to spot a largely unoccupied couch by the small dance floor on which a few business-types, blasted enough to lose all their natural inhibitions but not quite blasted enough to fall over or throw up down their shirtfronts, are either suffering some kind of seizure or boogieing embarrassingly badly, egged on by the giggling bar girls. I sit down on the end of it (knees together, back straight and _don’t_ look so pained, Siberian, some of us have to sit like this all the time – thank you, Manx) and try not to look at the gyrating salarymen, all of whom I'm sure I’ll be seeing in all my nightmares from here on in. Instead, I watch the club, waiting for a glimpse of Ogawa. When I don’t get that, I just get more bored.

I’m starting to think I recognize that one guy over there, which is kind of freaky. He’s a couple of years older than Youji and looks even slicker than him, as if that was even possible, so I can’t quite figure out why I’d think I’d have met him. After a bit, though, I figure out where I’ve seen him before and I'm so shocked I nearly fall off the end of the couch. That guy was on the same goddamn soccer team I was!

I stare suspiciously at him for way too long. He notices and looks back at me. I turn away way too quickly.

For the first time this evening I'm ridiculously grateful I’m pretending to be a girl.

I wonder how he’d react if I went over and said Hi. Yeah, I used to be Ken Hidaka, you guys all think I'm a cheating bastard no thanks to Kase, oh, and I'm supposed to be dead. And male. No, that’s really not a good plan. What the hell’s he doing here anyway? I feel myself start to frown. I realize I'm starting to get pissed off – or rather even more so. Geez, just to look at some guy I used to know and I'm feeling homicidal… well, I can’t say it’s not fitting. You know you’ve got problems when you sound bitter even to yourself. I quickly look back at the bopping salarymen to take my mind off my irritation with my teammates both former and present, but they’re all such bloody awful dancers I get embarrassed just to watch them. Guess God or fate or karma or whatever the Hell you want to call it’s telling me it’s high time I went and looked somewhere else.

Which sounds kind of like a nice idea, but it takes barely any time at all for me to wish karma would go pick on someone else for a change.

“Do you like dancing?” Someone says in my ear.  
“Huh?” Okay, that wasn’t the smartest response. I force a stupid smile onto my face and turn around. “What do you mean?”

Ohh, _shit_.

I shouldn’t even have looked at this one, never mind talked to him. Big mistake! He’s not the guy from before but he’s so like him he might as well be. Another drunken middle-aged salaryman. How nice. You sure can pick ‘em, Hidaka, or more exactly they sure as Hell pick you! I’d be worried about this if I wasn’t here specifically to get Ogawa, who’s also a drunken middle-aged salaryman, to go off somewhere private with me so we can get rid of the bastard but I'm not sure if this says more about the clientele or the kind of man someone like I’m pretending to be attracts.

I’ve already decided that I really don’t like this man. Even if I was a girl rather than just pretending to be one I doubt I could ever find someone like this appealing. Where the last one’s teeth were a horror story, this one has a bald patch he’s raked a few strands of hair over, like it could make it look any better, and he’s practically poured himself into some casual suit that’s far too small for him. I guess that suit might have been something special when it was new but going by the state of it and the state of him, this must have been when I was about four years old. Looks aside, it’s the same bloody story the last one was trying to tell me.

My smile gets even more forced. My new best friend here doesn’t notice. Too busy gawking at what he fondly imagines is my bust line. I pray to any saint who might be listening that Youji doesn’t decide to come bale me out again.

“You’ve been watching the dancers for the last ten minutes.”  
He’s been watching me? Jesus Mary and Joseph how in Hell do I get out of this one? Without making a scene and blowing my cover, that is. “Not really… I was just, well, I'm kind of looking for someone,” I say lamely.  
He smirks. “You’ve found someone.”  
 _Fuck_. I walked into that! “Uh… yes, well I can see that, but—”  
“But what?” he asks, resting one hand on my shoulder. I resist the temptation to punch him in the face and run. He opens a crumpled packet of cigarettes, takes one out, offers me the box. “Cigarette?”  
“I don’t smoke,” I say quickly, trying not to look too revolted. I wonder if I should commit seppuku with a cocktail stick before I get myself in deeper?  
“You don’t mind if I do though, do you?” he asks, lighting up before I have a chance to tell him that yes I do bloody mind.

The salaryman offers to buy me a drink. I turn him down. He tries again. I say I’m not thirsty. He laughs and says a small one won’t hurt and drinking together is the best way to forge a friendship. Getting desperate, I tell him I'm too young to drink, hoping it’ll put him off. It doesn’t. His horrible smile gets horribly knowing. I realize I’ve just fucked up big-time.

Screw pride where is Youji. If he was anywhere in sight I’d take a cue from those rabid schoolgirls at the shop and latch onto him like some sex-starved octopus. It’d be embarrassing as Hell, sure, but at least it’d get me away from this old bastard. No Youji, though. Not a sign of him. Thanks for nothing, Kudou, and I swear on all that’s holy I'm going to strangle you the minute we get out of here!

“One drink won’t kill you,” he wheedles.  
I wonder if he knows how close I am to killing _him_? “Look, I’ll be…” He puts his arm round my shoulders and draws me closer to him. I freeze. “Um. Could you not do that please.” Oh God, am I blushing? Please tell me I'm not blushing.  
“Shy?” he says, missing the point entirely. “Why not have a drink with me, honey? It’ll help you relax.”  
I don’t want a drink, I don’t want to relax, and while we’re on the subject I'm not your honey either. “Look,” I say, and I try to say it firmly, “this has been really interesting but I’ve got to _go_.” I try and pull away from him but he doesn’t want to let me. This is getting old fast.  
“When we’re just getting acquainted? That’s hardly fair,” he murmurs. Of course it’s not, but who said anything about this being fair? If life was fair I wouldn’t be in this stupid club wearing a stupid dress and getting leered at by perverts, would I? Of course he thinks I'm a girl so maybe he’s not a _complete_ pervert, but whatever…

He grabs me under the chin and tilts my head back. I get a horrible feeling I know exactly where he’s taking this and I try to pull away. No dice. Oh, fantastic. I flinch. Every instinct I possess is telling me to deck the guy, well, every one except the one that’s telling me if I screw this entire mission up because some middle-aged guy got a bit too close then Aya will see to it that the rest of my life is extremely short and even more uncomfortable. Isn’t there some old saying about being stuck between a rock and a hard place? Every so often, I'm reminded of it…

“Is this man bothering you, my dear?”

The guy hastily moves away from me but he doesn’t quite let go. I pull away from him, take a hasty step backwards and collide with the newcomer, who immediately puts his hands on my shoulders. Godfuckingdammit what’s _wrong_ with these people? Still, I’m grateful for the interruption… or at least I am until I get a decent look at the stranger’s face. At which point I promptly panic and wish with all my heart I could throw myself into the arms of the first guy, appalling suit, bald patch and all. I don’t, though. I look into the newcomer’s eyes, for all the world as if I hadn’t actually noticed he was leering at me, and force myself to smile gratefully. Okay, Ken, you can do this…

Looks like I’ve just found Shougo Ogawa.

“Yes, kind of,” I say hopefully.  
“In which case,” Ogawa’s talking over my head now, looking straight at the first guy, “I think you’d better leave this poor child alone, don’t you?”

(Poor child? Jesus Christ. I’d have been better off with Youji again than putting up with this crap!)

The guy takes a look at Ogawa, who I'm coming to realize is actually very tall and pretty well-built with it, and then back down at me. I try and look nothing but relieved at the interruption and as if Ogawa’s hands aren’t pressing far too emphatically down on my shoulders. It’s actually beginning to hurt so I guess I must be a better actor than I thought going by the crestfallen look on the salaryman’s face. (I can’t help noticing that Ogawa here doesn’t seem to want to give me the chance to make a break for it, either). For whatever reason he must decide he can’t compete, because he stammers an apology and vanishes back into the crowd from which he should never have emerged.

It annoys me that he apologizes to Ogawa and not to me when I’m the one he’s been pawing. It makes me feel like a bit of Ogawa’s bloody kit, never mind that I don’t know the guy and don’t want to either. If girls really have to handle shit like this all the time remind me never to say anything bad about any woman ever again. Though I might have to make an exception for that blonde lunatic who wanted me dead because I scratched her face.

“The nuisance has left,” he says, stepping forward and smiling down at me. I don’t like the way he smiles. And he’s still got his hand on one of my shoulders…  
Then why are you still bloody here? “Thank you.”  
“You don’t have to thank me,” he says smoothly. “Though, perhaps, if you were to let me buy you a drink instead…”  
I smile at him again, hoping I look cute and clueless enough to keep him interested, and brush a few stray strands of hair from my face. “Well… if you don’t mind?”

I try to keep smiling obliviously as I let him guide me over to a secluded table. I really want to run for it now, but how can I? This is Ogawa, the target. I can’t be doing playing hard to get round this one. I’m horribly grateful when I catch a glimpse of Youji on the way over and, thank Christ, he notices me too and even stops flirting for long enough to give me a quick wink. I guess that means we’ve started the mission, God help me. I can’t see the bodyguards, but I guess they’re around.

I start to get the creeps just after we’ve sat down. Ogawa asks me what I want to drink almost immediately and, when I say I’d rather stick to fruit juice, he tells me he’ll get me something light. I must look startled, because he makes two or three not terribly reassuring attempts at reassurance before calling over one of the waitresses. Great, I’ve known Ogawa five minutes and already he’s trying to get me drunk. I try to pretend to be convinced by his lame guarantees. I want this guy to think I’m innocent and if I act like he’s freaking me out, which incidentally he is, he won’t buy into it for five seconds.

I tell myself this is only the whole point of it and it doesn’t much matter if I'm out of my head when Aya shows up. All I’ve got to do – yeah, _all_ I’m doing, as if the whole bloody deal didn’t hinge on this! – is keep Ogawa distracted long enough for the others to come find him. It might even be easier if I’m slightly pissed. As long as he doesn’t tamper with my drink I’ll be fine.

(And now I'm freaking myself out.)

Ogawa doesn’t seem to be in any hurry to go anywhere, though. Having sat down here with me, he’s showing every sign of putting down roots. The most energetic I get to see him, except for when he walked over here in the first place, is the strange hand gestures he makes to flag down the passing waitresses. Them he ignores though, save to issue ever more complicated drinks orders. All his attention’s focused on me. He’s got this laser gaze which is almost as intimidating as Aya’s, and it’s all I can do to keep grinning like an idiot in the face of it.

“You’ve never been to a club like this before?” he asks contemplatively.  
“Ah. No.” I look down, pretending to be embarrassed. “A friend brought me here, but he’s… I don’t know where he’s gone.”  
Ogawa’s eyes get shifty for a moment. “So, he’s left you all alone here. That must have been pretty worrying.”  
It’s not half as worrying as that look he’s giving me. “Yes, he got talking to these other girls and vanished… I'm really glad I'm not by myself any more.” I smile cluelessly.  
“I see.” Yeah, it really sounds like you see, buddy. “Are you new to the city, my dear?”  
That throws me. “Huh?” God, I must sound stupid.  
“You’ve an accent,” Ogawa says with a smile. So he minds me sounding Northern but he doesn’t mind me sounding stupid. Okay. “Where do you come from?”  
Oh well, what the Hell… “Niigata.”

Damn, he’s gotta think I’m really naïve by now. He’s staring at me so calculatingly that only a complete airhead could fail to notice it. He’s planning something, I can just tell, and I’d say it was a pretty fair bet that whatever it is I’m not going to like it one bit. Blame a combination of that and trying to sound female that I’ve already drunk more than I intended. And I don’t care what Leisure Suit back there said, it’s not helping me relax at all. I'm getting the feeling he likes the idea I’m alone here…

… I’m beginning to wonder if maybe what I’m doing’s a lot more dangerous than we bargained for.

Also, I'm beginning to feel like a candidate for some bizarre kind of job. It’s as if he’s interviewing me over… what did he say this ghastly pink thing he’s insisting I drink was called anyway? A strawberry daiquiri, that was it. Have I mentioned I really hate cocktails? If I’ve got to get drunk at all why can’t I do it on beer or something else partway normal rather than something pink and sticky with a cherry drowning in it? Oh yeah, demure young ladies don’t drink beer. Damn, I miss my jeans.

“A Northerner, hm?” He looks me over again. “You’ve got to find Tokyo quite different to what you’re used to… oh, forgive me. I never asked your name.”  
My name? Shit. It’s only now I realize I haven’t paid any thought to what to call myself. Ken’s obviously out. I just had to go and have of those irritating names you can’t stick ‘ko’ onto the end of to get a female equivalent, didn’t I? I freak, my mind going horribly blank. There must be millions of girl’s names out there and I can’t think of a single one. Why can’t you get girls called Ken? “Sakura!” I blurt out, hoping like hell I don’t sound too frantic. Keeping it strictly to myself, I'm quite pleased with this. Actually, I'm just bloody glad I didn’t say I was called Aya.  
“Sakura. That’s a pretty name.” Ogawa gives me this look as if he’s hoping to show how pretty he thinks it is, but I’d guess he’s got a problem because he looks like he’s not feeling well. I'm tempted to ask if he needs a bicarb. “It suits you.”  
Help and that’s disgusting. “Thank you.” I giggle vacuously. I think I'm going to gag.

Forty minutes. Ogawa orders four more drinks and downs them. I finish the strawberry thing and he immediately orders me something bright blue with a straw and a pink paper umbrella in it and a stupid sexy pun of a name. Now, this may just be a personal thing but I don’t think any drink anywhere should ever be bright blue. It’s a bad color for something you’re expected to swallow. I ignore the _double entendre_ as if I hadn’t noticed it and that makes his smile get even more calculating. The drink, needless to say, is disgustingly sickly as well as being blue and I sip it, trying very hard not to taste it. Youji isn’t going to believe Ogawa’s taste in cocktails.

Ogawa starts talking about his career. Looks like I’ve passed the interview stage, now it’s time for Trial by Boredom. _My_ job seems to be to listen, nod, smile, make brief approving asides and laugh when occasion demands it. I’m just drunk enough to tune most of it out. I guess the way to win this round is to look approving and attentive, like this was the most fascinating thing I’ve ever heard. I flinch and nearly knock my horrible blue drink over when he rests one hand on top of mine but Ogawa must take it as proof I'm endearingly shy or something because all he does is smile indulgently. Prick.

This time, when he finishes his drink, he doesn’t order another. He looks across at me and the disgusting blue thing he foisted on me. I’ve drunk about half of it and that’s been enough of an ordeal.

“Do you want the rest of that?” he asks.  
“No,” I say without thinking.  
“Good, good.” He gets to his feet, brushing the creases out of his suit. I stand with him and I’m mildly alarmed when I have to grab the back of the couch to keep my footing. I’d like to blame losing my balance on the shoes but I know that’s not all there is to it. How much alcohol is there in cocktails anyway? He can’t have been spiking the bloody things since I was with him all the time. Unless he’s got some kind of deal going with the bar staff, there’s no way that could have happened. I guess all I am is drunk. It’s not a reassuring thought. He offers me his arm. I try to look pleased and let him steady me.  
“Oh,” I say. “Where are we going?” The ‘we’ is good. He likes that. Too bad I don’t.  
“It’s pretty noisy in here,” Ogawa says smarmily. He’s turning on the charm, or fancies he is. Oh God… Calm down, Ken, it’s all part of the plan. “Would you like to go somewhere quieter, my dear?”  
“Somewhere quieter?” I pretend to be confused.  
“So we can talk a little more privately,” he says with what he must fondly imagine is a reassuring smile. It makes me worried he’s about to go for my throat. How can this guy have any success with women when he gives his dates the creeps? “Would you like that, Sakura?”

Not on my life, you pervert, and my name is Ken! I nearly blow everything by running for cover, but I remember the mission. Okay, you can do this, I tell myself. Briefly, I glance round for Youji – he’s there, he’s watching, he gives me another wink and a smile and I decide I forgive him absolutely everything – then gather all my courage and look up at Ogawa, smiling like an idiot and blinking as I push the hair from my face.

“Oh! Well… all right then.”

The lift deposits us in a corridor lined with purple carpet. I fidget anxiously with my bag, wishing I’d thought to stick something I could use to defend myself in there before I left the shop, the scissors I use to cut ribbon with would have done, as Ogawa – the target, now – busies himself unlocking a door to one of the rooms. Talking himself up, he says this is his private suite, that it has a fantastic view. We’ll really be able to get to know one another now. Oh, I bet. Is Youji ever this cheesy? I bet he’s never this bloody creepy, that’s for sure.

I wish the door hadn’t creaked when he opened it. I wish the room hadn’t been sunk in darkness as I stepped inside. I wish I wasn’t here. Ogawa makes a big show of letting me go in first. Lucky me. When he snaps the lights on, I manage to disguise a quick sweep of the surroundings, casing out the layout and checking the room for anything I might be able to use as a weapon, as an admiring glance. It’s a nice room, I’ll give him that much. Nice furniture, thick carpet, alarming bed. It does have a good view, too. I greet the vases of artfully-arranged flowers like old friends, momentarily calculating how much an arrangement like that’d set someone back. Then I calculate how much damage I could do if I smacked Ogawa over the head with the pot. It’s an interesting combination of flowers and death.

“Like it?” he asks.  
Somehow I manage to nod and smile. “Oh, yes.”

He nods briskly, closing the door behind us. Then he turns to me, all trace of the sickeningly smarmy smile he’s been aiming at me all evening gone from his face. No, I really hadn’t been imagining that look in his eyes. It’d be an improvement if it wasn’t for what that complete lack of any attempt at charm spelt for me. All I can think is that Youji’d better get his bloody act together or I’ll do something violent. I’m beginning to suspect that something violent will be called ‘dying’.

“Alone at last, my dear,” Ogawa says. This time, even a complete airhead couldn’t have failed to notice the menace in it.

I’m in deep shit.


	4. Lady Dynamite

Fuck.

Fuck, fuck, _fuck_! What in the Hell is going on here? Ogawa’s meant to be a drugs baron, isn’t he? So what in the name of all that’s holy does he think he’s doing? Why’s he looking at me like he’s imagining… God, I’ve got no idea what he’s imagining but I’m double damn sure it ain’t any kind of a seduction. And to think I was worried about what would happen if the guy tried to kiss me. Right now, him trying to kill me looks a more likely prospect.

“Ogawa?” I take a pace backward. I forget the –san. I only just manage to remember I'm supposed to sound like a girl.  
“What’s the matter?” he asks, coldly. I hate that bloody smile.  
He grabs my arm. I wince. “… you’re hurting me,” I say lamely. I only just manage not to shout _cut that out_!

For a brief, insane moment, I wonder if Ogawa’s sudden turn for the psychotic means he’s got wise. Then I realize he hasn’t. He’s just a violent bastard who gets off on hurting girls. I also realize what I really need right about now is Youji and his enraged chivalry and his woman’s enemy is mine act. Too bad Youji’s not here. Too busy with real women to worry about an ersatz one. Thanks a million, Kudou!

No wonder Ogawa likes them innocent. No wonder he asked all those questions about where I was from and seemed glad when I told him I was new in town and ditched by my date. No wonder the bastard was giving me the creeps! If I get out of this one alive, and right now that’s looking pretty damn debatable, I swear the other three are really going to pay for this. As if all the humiliation I’ve been put through in the course of this bloody mission wasn’t quite bad enough, now this old pervert’s trying to _kill_ me!

“Let _go_!” Whoa. I kind of forget how loud I can yell when I’m not actually doing it.  
He slaps me. “Shut up!” For a moment I'm too relieved the wig’s still in place to realize he’s slapped me. This is good because it’s the only thing that stops me from breaking his nose on general principle.

Play along, I tell myself almost frantically. How hard can it be to act caught out and scared, anyway? Of course, when I’m scared I get really angry but it wouldn’t do for Ogawa to know that. I concentrate on looking absolutely terrified and try to ignore how furious I feel. Didn’t anyone in Kritiker know this guy gets cheap thrills out of hurting women? And if they did, why the Hell did they want me to get him alone? I remind myself to get Manx, too. And Persia. This is all Persia’s bloody fault. I decide that, out of all the people I hate, I definitely hate Persia the most. Still, Aya’s gonna be here in a minute, right? Right? I can hang on that long and God knows I really don’t want to tangle with this bastard myself. Not when he’s got me drunk and unarmed.

Play along. Sure. Right. Fine. I’m a girl, I'm clueless and I'm shit scared. That means I can’t swear and I can’t try to smash his face in no matter how much immediate satisfaction it would give me. What would the real Sakura do? Burst into tears and scream for Aya. Okay, maybe not…

“What are you _doing_?” That sounded more like a demand than a plea.  
“Nothing,” he snaps. “Just you behave yourself!”

What Ogawa’s doing is half-carrying, half-dragging me toward that alarming bed of his whilst I occupy myself with trying to pull his hair out by the roots, which seems a sufficiently girly form of fighting back. Jesus _Christ_ , he’s strong! Of course, I’m pretty strong myself but if I'm pretending to be a scared teenage girl how the Hell can I fight back the way I’d like to? Still, it’s a strange idea of nothing some people have, huh?

(Where’s Aya gotten off to anyway, that’s what I want to know!)

I grit my teeth and bear it when the old bastard practically flings me onto his bed. It’s actually very comfortable. In any other circumstances I wouldn’t mind being here but right now I definitely do not want to know and try to scramble off it. He grabs me by the wrist and drags me back toward him, knocking me off balance and a clutter of pillows to the floor. I fall heavily, would have been much heavier if we’d not been fighting on a double bed, I'm actually really glad Youji isn’t here, what the fuck must this look like, not good I bet. I yelp. God damn, that hurt!

“Play nice,” he suggests, pinning me beneath him.  
“Fuck you,” I snap. Whoops. Forgot myself for a moment there.  
That surprises him. “Little girls shouldn’t use words like that,” he says irritably, twisting one of my wrists behind my back. I try and kick him, miss, and send the bedside lamp and a pitcher of water tumbling to an early grave. He wasn’t expecting that, either. I guess I'm well and truly fucking his sick little sex plan up and I’m delighted. By rights I should probably have started crying or begging him not to hurt me by now, or something like that, but I'm not _that_ interested in playing along.  
“What the…” I sound panicky. Where’s Aya got to? “What do you _want_ , goddamn it?” Hey, why can’t I stop cursing?  
“Never you mind, my dear,” he says. He smiles again. It takes all my self-control not to punch that smile.

He’s looking at me like he’s trying to decide what to do next. I realize my disguise isn’t going to hold up for much longer, not if Ogawa’s after getting touchy-feely. No doubt what this guy’s after now and I’d guess this is only the entrée in terms of what he’s got planned. Too bad he’s going to have to change them. Now I really start struggling, which I’ll admit is a bit bloody late, and all I manage to do is rip the bedsheets with the heel of one of these dumb shoes. He’s found the zip on the back of my dress and, as he starts working it down, he puts his free hand on my upper thigh. I go tense. Where in the world is that stupid fucking bastard Aya!

Then Ogawa freezes.

It’s weird. He just stops dead, like someone hit a pause button. Oh, yeah. Women’s legs are soft, right? My leg is not soft. Doesn’t help that women don’t spend most of their lives playing soccer and killing people. I’m trying to work out how to turn this to my advantage when he makes a fierce grab for what he thinks is my bust. Too bad I don’t have a bust, never have done and never will do for that matter. I guess what he finds there feels even more wrong than my leg did. Maybe I should have winced or something?

“What the _Hell_?!” Ogawa demands.  
I give him a panicky grin. “Um, whoops?”

Then, since Aya clearly isn’t going to show up until I’m either dead or headed that way, I think _screw it_. Giving in to impulse I drive one knee into Ogawa’s gut, shove him off me and make a lunge for the door only to trip on the rug, falling into a delicate little coffee table and dragging it down with me. I should have known I was doing too well with these damn shoes! I land on the floor in an undignified sprawl where I’m joined by a load of hotel silverware and what feels like about a gallon of thankfully lukewarm coffee, but at this stage I really don’t have a lot of pride left to wound so I scramble back to my feet and carry on regardless. Ogawa pushes himself up from a tangle of bedsheets. He looks like Gajira emerging from the stormy seas, only about ten thousand times less friendly.

“Stop, you bastard!”  
I can’t restrain myself. “What’s the matter, don’t you want to fuck me any more?”

And I grab one of the vases and hurl it in his general direction then run for the door, struggling desperately with the lock. Either it’s stiff or I'm way too panicky to do the job properly because nothing bloody happens for an almost comedic length of time. I heave my ludicrous evening bag at the guy while I'm working. The thing bounces off his head and into a corner, which is pretty useless but strangely satisfying all the same. Finally I force the lock open, flinging the door open and slamming it shut in Ogawa’s face. That must hold him up for all of two seconds.

I don’t wait to see if he’s following or not. I make a break for it, slipping slightly on the stupid heels as I try to find the exit. _Damnation_ , and I thought walking in these things was hard? I find a bodyguard, probably one of Ogawa’s, a few feet down the corridor and nail him where it’ll do most damage when he tries to grab me by the arm. Perhaps I didn’t need to kick him quite that hard because his eyes bug out and he collapses to the floor in a whimpering heap, but what the Hell…

Then there’s a godawful bang and a searing pain in my side as something clips it. I stop short and instinctively reach down to check what hit me. When I lift my hand away, the fingers of the silly lace glove I’m wearing are stained red. Oh. I'm bleeding? Someone just tried to shoot me and damn near managed as well—

“Get back here!”

Turns out this is where I discover Ogawa’s got a gun. Thanks again, God!

“Bloody well _make_ me!”

I don’t stop to think about it. I just start running again, Ogawa in hot pursuit. He fires at me a second time but this time he misses completely and blasts seven shades of Hell out of an innocent plaster wall instead. Oh yeah, he’s drunk too. Thank you, God, and this time I actually mean it.

Can’t find the lift so the fire escape’ll have to do. I ignore the little green sticker politely informing me that _this door is alarmed_. How the Hell can a door be alarmed? It’s not running for its life from a homicidal drug baron, is it? I practically fall onto the bar that opens the double doors and nearly land myself on my ass again when the thing swings forward, spilling me off my feet. I grab the door to steady myself. An alarm starts shrieking insistently as I duck out of the door and wouldn’t you just know it, it’s started raining like it’ll never let up. Brilliant. The cold stings the wound in my side. I grit my teeth against it and mutter a selection of colorful curses. At least it’ll sober me up, I think grimly, as if being shot at wasn’t enough to do that.

Aya’s just moved to the absolute top of my shit list for this. He’s usually the bloody professional one out of the four of us, what’s he doing leaving me stuck with some old psycho? Don’t tell me Takatori’s shown up here or something stupid like that! I really hate him now. I hate Youji, too. Maybe Youji’s misdirected him. Great. Just fantastic. I am going to wring your fucking neck, Youji Kudou, so help me God!

The stairs are metal. That irritating latticed stuff. No way would that mix with high-heeled shoes even if I wasn't drunk and the stairs weren’t wet and therefore slippery and treacherous. Fall down these things and I’ll be lucky not to break my bloody neck. I slam the door shut behind me and lean heavily on it, hoping to hold it closed with body weight alone, as I fumble with the ankle straps on my shoes. Ogawa starts trying to force it open. I try to keep the thing shut. It’s not easy. It seems to take a long time to get the bloody buckles loose but, once that’s done, I kick the shoes off where I stand and run down the stairs, stumbling slightly in my haste. A moving target’s harder to hit, right?

… Yup, Ogawa’s still following me. Remind me again what I did to deserve this?

Three flights from the bottom, I decide to speed things up a bit and jump over the side of the fire escape, landing heavily but luckily on my feet in what looks like a goods yard. There’s only one exit and as if life didn’t suck enough already it’s gated and the gate in question is ten feet high and locked. My side protests me hurling myself about the place. I tell it to deal. I haven’t checked how deep this wound is and I’m not about to either. I remind my body that if it doesn’t want to be in a lot worse pain then it’ll shut the Hell up complaining and let me get on with running away. It doesn’t seem to convince it because the wound still nags at me. I press one hand to it, wincing. How badly am I bleeding anyway? No, forget that, ignorance is bliss.

Ogawa fires at me again, from the staircase. He misses. I'm getting the feeling he ain’t a great shot but he doesn’t have to be. He only has to get lucky once and that’ll be the end of it. Once again I just can’t resist it: I flip him the finger then bolt, desperately looking for a way out of here, but if that’s too much to ask for then cover or a weapon would do. By this stage I’m not even surprised when there’s no sign of Omi. Don’t tell me – he’s covering the front exit. Do the others want this guy to kill me or something? This is beginning to look deliberate and I’m beginning to get really annoyed.

I duck behind a pile of plastic crates full of old beer bottles and try to think. I need to come up with some kind of plan, right? Okay, um… I can’t think of a bloody thing. Well, it’s not like Kritiker bothered with me because of my razor-sharp wits and stunning capacity for incisive, analytical thought. That’s what we’ve got Omi for, isn’t it? I'm just here because I can move fast and hit hard. Unless you count understanding the use of the offside trap and when not to stick with a four-four-two formation I can’t think tactically to save my life, which is exactly what I’ve got to do here. Damn it all, I should _not_ be the one doing this!

I peer round the crates, hoping for a glimpse of Ogawa. There. Walking round in circles, poking in corners, glancing this way and that, scowling and playing with that damn gun of his. Worse, his bodyguards are getting in on the act too: there’s two on the staircase and one in the yard. I don’t need to be an analytical genius to know this means he’s still heartily pissed with me and if he catches me I’m dead. I also know that this is a bloody useless hiding place and it’d be a hell of a lot better to get out on my own terms than be forced out by Ogawa. My best shot’s to get onto the street, or anywhere there’s a ready-made body of witnesses. He can’t exactly shoot me in the middle of a crowded street, can he? Well, can he?

“Over there!”  
“Oh, shit,” I mutter. Looks like one of them saw me move. Nice work, Hidaka. Still, it’s only what I’d expected going by my current form…

Ogawa turns and starts prowling towards me, grinning and raising the gun. I panic again (why the Hell didn’t I come armed?), then do the only thing I can think of. I shove the crates over on top of him, sending old bottles and stale beer everywhere, and run for the gate. The bloody thing looks near as dammit unscaleable up close, and there’s a set of nasty-looking spikes on the top, designed to deter people from climbing over. And you know something? I really don’t give a shit.

“Stop!”

In your _dreams_ , buster!

(You know how you think the craziest things in stressful moments? Well, it’s just occurred to me this would be impossible in a kimono.)

I cut my hands on the way up, rip the dress beyond redemption whilst scrambling over the top and only get back down by means of something I like to describe as a controlled fall. I land in a puddle on all fours, grazing my palms and knees and winding myself in the process, and I’m almost surprised to realize that I'm still alive and in one piece as I look quickly back over my shoulder. Ogawa’s shouting something to his bodyguards but at this stage I couldn’t care less what it was. I stand up again and grab the gate to steady myself, quickly checking myself over for injuries.

After a moment I discover my right ankle feels kind of funny. It feels funnier still when I try to put my weight on it. Actually, it’s more like it hurts like Hell. The damn thing actually gives way when I try to run off and I hit the deck for what feels like the ten thousandth time today. My head hits the kerb on the way down and everything goes unexpectedly black.  
____

I open my eyes and wish I hadn’t bothered when I discover I'm lying on my side in the gutter, I'm still wearing that bloody dress and yes, it’s still raining. I don’t think I passed out but there’s no sign of Ogawa. The words _small, mercies and thankful_ have just entered the equation. I curse and drag myself upright, feeling dizzy. My head aches and when I rub at it I discover a lump there which feels about the same size as a golf ball even through the wig. Of all the things I could have done to myself trying to get over that gate I just had to go and sprain my ankle, didn’t I? And how is it possible to injure yourself worse falling into a bloody gutter than scaling a ten-foot gate, or however high that thing was?

Perhaps you just have to be Ken Hidaka.

Why does shit like this always pick on _me_ to happen to and never to someone like Aya? Just once I’d like to see Aya go through something like this while I get to stand there and call him an idiot. That would make a nice change!

I get up. It sounds easy but it isn’t. What the fuck have I done to my head? Well it’s just too bad, I think grimly as I walk slowly up the side street I’ve literally fallen into, I want to stay alive to experience the full joy of having this wonderful array of wounds, thank you. I'm already limping heavily. I really hope I don’t do anything else to myself this evening, I feel like a damn Minor Injuries clinic as it is. Gritting my teeth, I head toward the main road. I almost make it. Before I get the chance to get out into the open and throw myself on the hopefully tender mercies of some passerby who won’t mind being harassed by a soaked, bleeding guy in a torn Chinese dress covered with grime and blood (oh, and badly ripped hose, I’d kind of forgotten about that) and won’t immediately call the police or more likely the men in white coats, I'm cut off, so to speak, at the pass.

“Just where do you think you’re going?”  
I look up. “Oh, fuck.”

Terrific. Of all the people out there who could have come to say Hello to me, didn’t it just have to be Ogawa again.

Guess I must have blacked out back there after all. Not for long, no, but quite long enough for this bastard to get round the front and find me. He steps into the side street and blocks my escape route. The only way I can go now is back the way I came and really, what’s the point of that? He gestures to his bodyguards to stay back then takes two paces toward me, drawing his gun. Not to be outdone, I take three paces away. The third is because he reeks of stale beer.

One question. Where in the high holy _Hell_ are my teammates? Now is not the time for them to decide to be useless bastards!

“Hi,” I say weakly.  
“Let’s dispense with the pleasantries,” he says nastily. “Suppose you tell me just what you think you’re playing at?”  
“And if I don’t want to?” I ask.  
He raises the gun and points it between my eyes. I stare down the barrel and really wish I hadn’t opened my mouth. I don’t like the way this is going. I’m cold, wet, dizzy, injured, in pain, absurdly underdressed and I’ve got a guy who smells like an explosion in a brewery pointing a gun at my head. If anything else could happen to make me uncomfortable at this point I definitely don’t want to know about it. “Then I’ll shoot you,” he says, which to my mind is a pretty gratuitous thing to say.  
“So?” I say irritably. “You’re going to shoot me anyway.”  
Ogawa nods. “Quite correct. I _am_ going to shoot you anyway. But this way,” he smiles again, “you stay alive for a little longer.”  
“Oh,” I say intelligently. “Right.”

As well as feeling utterly infuriated (this really is a stupid bloody joke of a way to die, isn’t it?), I’m also kind of torn. On the one hand, I don’t want to tell this guy anything. On the other, if I don’t he’ll just kill me that one bit quicker. Aya and the others might have been doing a bloody lousy job of backing me up so far, but – though I’ll admit it’s insanely optimistic of me – I'm still not prepared to give up on them altogether. Partly because if I do, I'm already as good as dead.

“So? How about it?” he asks.  
He takes another pace toward me. I step away again and bump into the wall. I’m beginning to feel nervous. Who could blame me? “What do you want to know?”  
“Your name would be a good place to start,” he says coolly. “It’s obviously not Sakura, is it?”  
I can’t think of anything it’d harm, so I tell him. “Ken.” Amazing how persuasive a gun to the head can be.  
“Ken,” He says thoughtfully. He seems even more annoyed to discover I’ve got a guy’s name. “Okay, Ken. And what was this little charade in aid of, may I ask?” A few feet away, one of the bodyguards snickers. Probably he thinks it’s kind of funny that his boss tried to go to bed with a card-carrying man. Actually, it is kind of funny. I giggle myself, then yelp when Ogawa takes exception to this and jams the gun against my temples. I press myself further into the wall in an attempt to get away from the psycho bastard. “I’m glad you find this so amusing,” he hisses. “Now are you going to talk or not?”  
“It was a joke,” I say lamely. It sounds stupid even to my own ears and I’m used to sounding stupid. Still, even if a gun to the head is persuasive it ain’t so persuasive I’m about to tell him I’m an assassin and this was part of a plan to kill him which is going a little bit wrong. Telling a paranoiac you’re out to get him is a good way to end up very dead very fast. “Can you point that thing someplace else? You’re scaring the shit outta me.” Now that sounded really stupid.  
Ogawa looks sadistically gratified at that. No wonder this sick fuck ended up on Persia’s shit list! “A joke, hm? Well, you can laugh this off.”

And he draws back the hammer of the gun. I wince and close my eyes. The sudden heavy thud’s out of place.

I hear a slight movement, as if Ogawa’s looked round, and the gun’s lifted slightly away from my forehead. It’s still close, though, I can just tell. I don’t look round, but that’s largely because I’ve got my eyes closed and I’m more worried about the gun than the noises off. Then someone cries out in a weirdly stifled sort of way and there’s a metallic clatter as something hits the pavement. From the sound of it that something was Ogawa’s gun. Since I’m clearly not dead yet I decide to risk it and open my eyes, to be greeted by the admittedly satisfying sight of Ogawa gurgling and clutching at his neck as the life’s choked out of him.

Youji to the rescue. How charmingly cliché.

I really wish I didn’t feel so pathetically grateful to see him.

“You’re fucking _late_ , man!” I yell as he lets Ogawa go. The guy’s body slides to the floor with a gratifyingly final thump as Youji steps into the light. He’s in his work clothes by now, guess he didn’t want to ruin his good suit, and he’s almost posing with that damn wire of his. That he’s doing it for my benefit is kind of bizarre. Over Youji’s shoulder, I catch sight of Omi stood by the entrance of the alleyway, a backup dart between his fingers. The kid smiles at me. Almost in spite of myself, I return it. Well, I guess that explains what happened to the bodyguards.  
Youji grins. “I was about to ask if you were okay, but going by that little outburst I’d say you were going to be fine.”  
I’m not at all sure what I’d rather do to Youji right now. It’s a close call between hugging him and strangling him. “Outburst? This is righteous bloody anger, goddammit! Where in the flaming Hell were you guys earlier? What kind of a plan was that apart from a really goddamn _stupid_ one? And where’s Aya got to anyway?”  
Omi giggles anxiously and apologizes. “Aya-kun went the other way,” he explains. “Well, we didn’t know where you’d gone…”  
“Why didn’t you stay in the room?” Youji asks, like it wasn’t totally bloody obvious.  
I bridle. I'm not in the mood to take this right now. “What the fuck kind of a question is that, Youji?” I demand. “What was I supposed to do, stay put and get shot? Don’t tell me you sent Aya to the wrong fucking room!”  
“Ken,” Youji suggests, “shut up, okay?”  
He wants me to kill him, doesn’t he? “Shut _up_? I nearly got killed no thanks to you! Do you have any _idea_ how much shit I’ve had to put up with tonight because of this stupid fucking mission?” Even without him kissing me in the middle of the goddamn club, not that I'm about to let Omi in on that little detail. I remind myself to ask Youji what the Hell he did it for. But later. I don’t have the energy for it right now. “Never again, okay? _Never again_!”

I punctuate the remark by yanking off the lace gloves and dropping them to the ground, where they land in a puddle. The wig’s slightly crooked and it’s spilling fake hair into my face. By some minor miracle it’s stayed largely in place all the way through this. I start to readjust it then decide that I really can’t be fucked. Ogawa’s dead, thank Christ, the mission’s over, I’m Ken Hidaka, I'm still alive and I'm a guy. Always have been, always will be, thank you and goodnight. To Hell with this stupid wig. I grab a handful of it and tug it off, hurling it at the damp, huddled lump that is Ogawa with an appropriate amount of contempt and running one hand through my own mercifully short hair. Just for a moment, it’s raining hairpins.

I feel more like myself than I have done all day.

Youji’s looking at me funny. Omi looks like he really wants to laugh but for the good of his short-term health he’s obviously decided not to. He’s smart, is Omi. “What?”  
“You look like Ken in around half a dress,” Youji says.  
“Isn’t that what I’m supposed to look like?” I retort, tugging couple of stray hairpins out and flicking them in his general direction. It’s only exactly what I am. “Anyway, who cares. Ogawa’s dead, let’s go home. I need a shower and a change of clothes.”  
Youji nods thoughtfully. “Good point. You’re practically falling out that thing. I hope Manx didn’t like that dress…” Something of the sort’s occurred to me and I lean wearily back against the wall, tugging at the ruined skirt. I must have left a good quarter of my outfit on top of that gate. Still, Manx isn’t stupid. She knows what we get up to on missions. She couldn’t have given me anything she really liked, could she? How could she? I mean, the thing didn’t even fit her!  
“Oh, man,” I moan, “I'm so _dead_. God damn, I get through all this and Manx shoots me for fucking up her dress.” Now there’s a sentence I never thought I’d say.  
“She’ll understand, Ken-kun,” Omi says, and smiles perkily.  
“Fine,” I say wearily. “Now can we go home, _please_?”  
“Sure thing, Kenken.” Youji says with a grin. “Unless you’d rather… okay, okay, I'm leaving it.”

And I’m bloody grateful for it. Still, it’s not like Youji just to back off so I wonder what brought on that rare display of tact until I spot, out of the corner of my eye, Omi giving him one of those worryingly emphatic cease-and-desist looks I bet he picked up off Aya before turning and heading back to the street, exchanging a few quiet words with Aya over his comm. As Omi starts to walk off, Youji shrugs off his coat and hands it to me. Doesn’t say a thing, just holds it out and waits for me to take it. Well I do, but that’s all I do.

“I'm bleeding,” I say anxiously.  
Youji shrugs. “It’s seen worse. Clothes can be washed, Ken.”

That settles it; if he doesn’t care then I certainly don’t. Well, what do you know, miracles can happen. I put it on then step away from the wall and over Ogawa, wincing when I try and walk on my injured ankle. Fucking fantastic, I'm supposed to be coaching tomorrow. Youji notices and gently but firmly grabs me round the waist, pulling one of my arms over his shoulders and taking most of my weight, then smiles at me like he means it. I begin to wonder if I hate him quite as badly as all that. Perhaps I won’t be killing him when we get home after all, even if it’s only because I suddenly realize I'm absolutely done in. It can wait; I’ll kill him tomorrow instead. If anyone so much as shows me a red Chinese dress after tonight, it’ll be about ten million years too soon.

Mission accomplished.

Let’s never mention any of this ever again.

 _-ende-_


End file.
